Wint said he had tried to do well.
“You understand, young man,” Hoover drawled in the slow, whimsical fashion that was characteristic of him. “You understand, I’m no teetotaller, myself. I’ve been accustomed to a drink, when I chose, for a good many years. This—crusade—of yours has made it damned inconvenient for me, too. But it’s a good cause. I’ve no complaint. More power to your elbow!”
Wint laughed, and said: “I guess there would be no kick at anything you might do, sir.”
Hoover nodded. “Oh, of course, I could bring the stuff in if I chose. But a man can’t afford to be on the wrong side in these matters, you know; not if he wants to keep his self-respect. And I can do without it. I can do without it. Stick to your guns, young man.”
“I’m going to,” Wint told him, flushed and proud at the older man’s praise. “I’m going to, sir.”
Peter Gergue came to Wint, scratching the back of his head and grinning a sly and knowing grin, and told Wint he was making votes by what he had done. “That’s a funny thing, too,” said Gergue. “Man’d think you’d make a pile of enemies. But I could name two or three of the worst soaks in town that say you’re all right; got good stuff in you; all that.” Gergue scratched his head again. “Yes, sir, men are funny things, Wint.”
Wint had never particularly liked Gergue, because he had never seen under the surface of the man. He was coming to have a quite genuine respect and affection for Amos’s lieutenant. “I’m not doing it to make votes,” he said good-naturedly.
“That’s the reason you’re making votes by it,” Gergue assured him. “And that’s the way politics goes. Take James T. Hollow now; he’s always trying to do what is right. He says so hisself. But it don’t get him anywhere; and I reckon that’s because he does what’s right because he thinks there’s votes in it. You go ahead and do it anyway. Maybe you do it because you think it’ll start a fight. Make some folks mad. And instead of that, they eat out o’ your hand.”
Wint nodded. “Even Kite,” he said. “He made some fuss at first. But it looks as though he had decided to take it lying down.”
Gergue shook his head. “Don’t you make any mistake about V. R. Kite,” he warned Wint. “He don’t like a fight, much. Getting too old. But he’ll fight when he’s got a gun in both hands. He’ll play poker when he holds four aces and the joker. V. R. will start something when he’s ready. I wasn’t talking about him.”